Читать книгу Summer at Lavender Bay: A fabulously feel-good summer romance perfect for taking on holiday! - Sarah Bennett, Sarah Bennett - Страница 7

The screaming had become so much a part of Jack’s life over the past month that he was out of bed and halfway across the landing before he was even properly awake. He’d just flipped on the light when the door to his mum’s room opened, and she appeared next to him with one arm hooked in the sleeve of her dressing gown, the rest of it trailing behind her. A section of her short grey hair was flattened against her scalp, the other side standing up in a lopsided wave, showing how she’d tossed and turned in her sleep. The circles beneath her eyes stood out like bruises against her pale skin. She looked terrible—at least ten years older than the fifty-seven she was due to turn in a couple of weeks. She was a ghostly shadow of the vibrant, robust woman who’d filled his life with laughter since the day he was born.

When was the last time he’d heard her laugh? The stray thought was shattered by another gut-wrenching scream. Jack shuddered, then braced his shoulders. ‘I’ll see to him, Mum. Go back to bed.’

Tears filled her eyes. ‘Poor little lamb, I wish there was something we could do.’

‘Me too, we just have to give him time. We have to give all of us time.’ Jack turned the handle and slipped into his nephew’s room. The night-light Jack’s brother Jason had purchased for his son when Noah had been tiny cast soft blue stars and moons onto the wall and ceiling. Having been declared ‘too-babyish’ just six months previously, it had been retrieved from the cupboard when the nightmares had started the night Jason died.

Ducking down next to the figure huddled beneath a Star Wars duvet, Jack touched a gentle hand to the rigid shoulder. ‘Noah? Shh, now. Uncle Jack’s here, everything will be okay.’ The lie curdled on his tongue. Nothing could ever be right for the poor kid, not since that terrible early-April morning when all their lives had been turned upside down and shattered by the terrible car accident. One bitter twist of fate had robbed Jack of his elder brother and made him into a surrogate father overnight. The fact that Jason had entrusted his son to his keeping was a weight he didn’t know if he could carry—and an honour he would spend the rest of his days trying to be worthy of.

It feels daft to be writing this, Jack, but the solicitor told me I needed to make my wishes clear should the worst happen, so here goes. In the event of my death, I want you to be the one responsible for Noah’s well-being and upbringing. You’re the only person I can trust to give him the life he deserves, to raise him how I would. A normal life. Give him the choices we never had, Jack…

The words of Jason’s letter to him, left with the solicitor for safekeeping together with his will, were etched into Jack’s memory in indelible ink. He knew they’d hurt their mum with their not-so-implied criticism of the way she and their dad had raised them. Jack had been not much older than Noah when his parents had decided to escape from the rat-race and start a new life in the country. It had been one big adventure to his ten-year-old self. At fourteen, Jason had been devastated to leave his friends and life in London behind to move to an old farm in the back of beyond, and he’d never quite recovered from that initial resentment, though it’d been almost twenty years ago. And now he’d never be able to heal the rift with their mother.

Growing up on the farm it had been the Gilberts against the world, an isolated existence thanks to his parents home-schooling their sons. Jack had loved the cosy security and been perfectly content with it just being the four of them most days. Jason had chafed against it, especially when his plans to escape off to a job in the city after finishing at university had been thwarted by their father’s early passing. Jason had given up a promising position with a trading house to help manage the farm. Though he’d never said so, it was clear he’d rather be anywhere else and every free moment he could manage, Jason disappeared somewhere. He’d never talked about what he got up to, and never invited Jack along either which had hurt more than he’d ever admitted.

Pain sliced through him, and Jack rubbed his chest to ease the phantom ache. It was ridiculous to be upset over something that had happened a dozen years or more ago, but he’d have followed Jason into the bowels of hell given the chance. Things changed abruptly when his brother had returned at the end of one trip with a visibly pregnant woman in tow. The pain vanished at the mere thought of Lydia. God, Jack had hated her pouting face on first sight.

Those mysterious weekends became a thing of the past, and Jason seemed to grow up overnight. He started taking things at the farm more seriously, started making all these plans for the future, but Lydia was having none of it. Country life was boring. Everything was boring, especially being tied down with a baby. She’d lasted all of three months after Noah was born before packing her things and leaving Jason literally holding the baby. The last they’d heard of her, she’d moved to New York with her new, obscenely wealthy, older husband.

Though he’d resigned himself to remaining at the farm Jason had been determined to give Noah a very different upbringing to theirs, making sure he was properly socialised through nursery attendance then enrolment in the local primary school.

Noah whimpered, but didn’t wake. Smoothing his hand in slow circles over the boy’s back, Jack kept up a litany of soft whispers. Sometimes it would work, and his nephew would settle again, sometimes not. There was nothing he could do but wait and see. The ache in his knees spoke of another long day on the farm, and Jack stifled a groan as he shifted position to sit on the floor.

It might have been the change in pressure against his back, or some dark terror conjured by his mind that disturbed Noah. Whatever it was, the boy turned over suddenly and opened his eyes. ‘Uncle Jack?’

Jack brushed the sweaty strands of hair off Noah’s forehead. ‘I’m here, buddy.’

Noah’s face crumpled. ‘I couldn’t find Daddy. I looked everywhere, but he wasn’t there.’ The last word came out in a strangled whisper.

‘Ah, buddy, come here.’ Jack opened his arms and his nephew slid from beneath the sheets to crawl into his lap. Thin arms wrapped around his neck, and Noah burrowed his damp face into Jack’s chest. Bitter, painful experience told him the best thing to do was to let Noah cry it out of his system, so Jack set his jaw and let the boy soak the front of his T-shirt as he rocked him gently.

The back of his own eyes burned, but the tears remained unshed as they had since the moment the police had knocked on the front door and told him Jason was dead. Anger kept them at bay. At the driver of the heavy goods vehicle which had jack-knifed on a dry, clear day causing a horrendous pileup on the motorway. Jason had been in the middle lane preparing to overtake—according to the eye-witness accounts the police had related to the family—and had stood no chance.

Jack was furious with himself, too, for sending his brother on an errand he couldn’t be bothered to run, and at Jason for dashing off in that ridiculous bloody sports car he’d insisted on buying as an early mid-life crisis present. From the moment Jason had pulled up in the yard in the sporty red car, Jack had hated the damn thing.

A waste of bloody money—money that could have been invested in one of the new side-ventures Jack wanted to try but Jason had refused to consider—and completely impractical for driving up and down the dirt lane that led to the farm. Thanks to ruts left by their tractor and the thick mud that formed every time it rained, the stupid vehicle spent more time parked up than being used.

Noah’s sobs quietened into the odd sniffle, and Jack forced the anger back down once more. Touching a finger to Noah’s cheek, he smiled when the boy raised his head. ‘A bit better now?’ When Noah nodded, Jack lifted him onto the edge of the bed, so he could stand up. ‘Do you think you can sleep again?’

Noah’s bottom lip disappeared between his teeth. Recognising the precursor to more tears, Jack bent down to scoop the boy up. ‘Oof, you’re getting heavy, buddy, I’ll have to tell Nanna to lay off the cakes.’ In truth, Noah was a wisp of a thing, all joints and gangly limbs from a recent growth spurt which had burned off the last hints of puppy fat. He’d been such a roly-poly little lad, a miniature buddha, all smiles and sweet cuddles until last summer when he’d converted all that girth into height.

There was no mistaking him for anything other than a Gilbert, now. If he kept on growing like this, he might even outstrip his dad who’d topped Jack’s six-foot frame by a good inch. If it weren’t for the four years between them, Jack and his brother could have been alike enough to be taken for twins at first glance, and staring into Noah’s hazel eyes was like looking into a mirror of the past. Even the grief etched on his face was familiar, although Jack had been three times six-year-old Noah’s age when his own father had died.

There’d been mutterings of a family curse by some old biddy at Jason’s funeral which Jack had shut down with a filthy glare. People loved that kind of crap, though he hadn’t realised how much until his family had been on the end of the gossip.

Settling Noah on his hip, though he was almost too big to be held that way anymore, Jack pressed a kiss to his forehead. ‘How about some hot chocolate?’

Noah perked up considerably at the suggestion of his favourite treat and even managed a little smile by the time Jack negotiated his way down the steep stairs and into the square hallway on the ground floor. Wincing as his toes touched the chilly flagstone floor, Jack made his way to the large sprawling kitchen-diner that was the heart of the old farmhouse. He deposited Noah on one of the ladder-back kitchen chairs, sighing in relief to be standing on one of the cheerful rag rugs which covered the bare stone floor.

A sleepy woof greeted them from the large basket tucked close against the Aga as Sebastian raised his head to greet them. Leaving Noah’s side, Jack crossed the room to flick the kettle on, pausing to bend over and scrub the chocolate Labrador in his favourite spot behind his left ear. Bastian rolled his eyes in bliss, tongue lolling. ‘Silly thing,’ Jack said, affectionately, and the dog wagged his tail as though in agreement.

Retrieving a box from the overhead cupboard, Jack scattered a couple of biscuits into Bastian’s bowl then gathered a pair of mugs and the instant hot chocolate mix while he waited for the kettle to boil. His mum always made the whole thing with hot milk, but it was too late for Jack to be bothered faffing around with pots and pans. Besides, Noah wouldn’t mind—the distraction of being out of bed and away from the nightmare would be enough to set him to rights once more.

The dog scoffed his midnight snack then ambled over to the table where he placed his head on Noah’s knee. He’d become attuned to the boy’s moods, offering gentle comfort whenever he sensed Noah was upset. Casting a quick glance over his shoulder, Jack couldn’t help but smile at the image the small boy and the big dog created together.

Jack mixed their drinks, adding a generous splash of milk to increase the creaminess of the flavour and to make sure it wasn’t too hot to drink. He wanted Noah settled back in bed as soon as possible so he’d be rested enough for school in the morning. Both Jack and his mum had agreed it was important to keep Noah to his regular schedule, and with the support of his teacher, he seemed to be coping okay during the day. It was the nights which were the real problem.

Placing the mugs down on the scarred surface of the block pine table, Jack took the chair next to Noah. Bastian immediately circled around Noah’s chair to wriggle his broad body in between them. Jack shifted his seat over to make room. The dog nudged his cold nose into Jack’s hand, a silent demand for more ear scratches. Obliging his beloved pet, Jack sipped his chocolate, keeping a weather eye on Noah who seemed a lot calmer now, his attention all on his own drink.

When only the dregs remained in his cup, Jack placed his hand on the back of Noah’s head. ‘We’ve both got a busy day tomorrow, are you about ready to get some more sleep?’

Noah gave a little nod as he placed his mug carefully on the table. ‘Uncle Jack, would it be all right if I came in with you?’

Christ, the hope and worry in his big hazel eyes was enough to break a man’s heart. ‘Of course, it’s all right.’ He held up a finger and wagged it at his nephew in warning. ‘No farting though.’

His nephew giggled. ‘Bastian farts much worse than me.’ They both looked at the dog wedged between them.

‘You’re not wrong there, buddy. Remember when Nanna gave him cod liver oil to help when he got itchy skin?’ His mother had embraced her new holistic life to the full and it wasn’t only the human occupants of the farm who were subjected to her homemade remedies. Jack didn’t think he’d ever smelt anything so bad in his entire life. Luckily, after speaking to the vet, they’d switched it out for a spoonful of sunflower oil mixed in with Bastian’s food which had eased his skin problems with less dire side-effects.

Noah wrinkled his nose. ‘He was so stinky!’

Bastian turned his head from side to side, giving them both his best innocent face. Jack tugged the dog’s ear, fondly. ‘Yes, mister, we’re talking about you.’ He stood, put their mugs in the sink to soak then turned to hold out a hand to Noah. ‘Come on, then.’

The dog trailed them to the kitchen threshold, his face a picture of pure misery when Jack tried to nudge him back enough to pull the door closed. ‘Forget it, mate,’ he said.

Bastian whined, making Noah tug on Jack’s fingers. ‘Please, Uncle Jack.’

The dog thumped his tail as the weight of two pairs of hopeful eyes bored into Jack. ‘Oh, bloody hell,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘All right, but when Nanna tells me off in the morning, I’m telling her it’s totally your fault.’

His nephew skipped up the stairs, one spoiled dog in tow while Jack turned off the lights and closed the doors. By the time he’d followed up after them, they were already occupying most of his king-size bed, together with the raggedy teddy Noah had had since a baby, leaving a thin sliver down one side for Jack to crawl onto. Wrestling enough of his duvet from beneath the dog to cover his back, he then rearranged the sprawl of little boy limbs until Noah was mostly vertical on the mattress.

A foul smell hit his nose, followed by a giggle. ‘Naughty Bastian,’ Noah said, fooling no one.

‘Yeah, right. Go to sleep, stinky boy.’ Jack punched his pillow into shape, then settled his head onto it with a sigh.

Little fingers curled around his forearm. ‘Night, Uncle Jack.’

‘Night, buddy.’

Soft snores followed not long after, a counterpoint to the dog’s snuffling breaths. Careful not to move his arm and risk waking Noah, Jack rolled onto his back and willed himself to join them in sleep. It wasn’t to be. The first hint of dawn showed behind his bedroom curtains before he finally dropped off.

‘Jack?’ A soft hand on his shoulder shook him awake. ‘It’s past eight o’clock.’

Feeling as though he’d only just closed them, he forced his gritty eyes open to find himself nose-to-nose with Noah’s teddy bear. He flinched back at the unexpected sight. ‘Huh? What?’

His mum, Sally, crossed the room to open the curtains, causing him to fling an arm across his face to shield himself from the already bright sunlight. ‘Have a heart, Mum!’ Two seconds later he was sitting bolt upright in bed. ‘Where’s Noah?’

His mum finished opening the top window, then turned to regard him. ‘He’s downstairs finishing his breakfast. I popped in earlier, but you were dead to the world, so I thought I’d let you sleep a bit longer.’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘It smells dreadful in here.’

Adjusting his pillows so he could lean against the headboard, Jack reached for the steaming mug of black coffee on his bedside cabinet with an appreciative sigh. ‘We’re men, we smell. It’s the law.’

She laughed. ‘Apparently so.’ Her expression sobered. ‘Noah’s a bit quiet this morning, did he say anything to you?’

Jack swallowed a mouthful of the hot, bitter brew, grateful for the energising power of caffeine. ‘Only that he had that dream where he couldn’t find his dad again. He went straight off to sleep after a hot drink.’ The next slurp of coffee finally kicked his brain into full gear, and a feeling of dread stole over him. ‘What time did you say it was?’

‘Just after eight.’

He threw back the covers with his free hand, almost spilling his coffee in his haste to get out of bed. ‘Bloody hell, I need to get a move on. I’m supposed to be planting the top of the south field.’

The weather had taken a dip after the Easter holidays and had only settled down over the past couple of weeks. A decent stretch of sunny days had dried and warmed the soil sufficiently for him to be able to transfer last year’s cuttings from the greenhouse to the fields. Clearing the old plants in preparation had been miserable, muddy work so it would be nice to be out there and feel the sun on his back.

‘I’m sorry, Jack, I just thought an extra hour would do you good, especially after you’d been up with Noah.’

Though he appreciated his mum’s intentions, he wished she hadn’t let him sleep in. With Jason gone, there never seemed to be enough hours in the day to get everything done. He’d have to bite the bullet and hire some extra help soon, but he couldn’t quite make himself do it yet. They had seasonal helpers at harvest time, and he hoped that between him and his mum they could make it through until then.

Taking the step to replace Jason would be a final acceptance of everything they’d lost, and he just wasn’t ready to try and work alongside someone else. They might not have seen eye to eye on everything, but he and Jason had lived and breathed lavender since they were children and knew the inner workings of the farm by heart.

Catching sight of the worry lines on his mum’s brow, Jack finished off the last of his coffee then bent to brush a quick kiss on her cheek. ‘It’s fine, Mum. You did the right thing. Thanks for the coffee, and for seeing to Noah.’

Sally took the mug from his hand. ‘Give me that. Go and have your shower. I’ll rustle you up a bacon sandwich and a thermos to take out with you, and then I’ll get Noah off to school…’ She paused by the door. ‘…Or he can stay home for a few days? I can make sure he keeps up with everything.’ The hope in her voice was enough to break his heart. She’d given up her career as a university lecturer to pursue a dream of raising her sons away from the rampant consumerism of modern life. Having missed so much of their growing up thanks to long hours spent climbing the corporate ladder, their father had been in wholehearted agreement at his wife’s decision to home-school both Jack and Jason. Their lessons had been scheduled to fit around working life on the farm and had involved as much about life as they did the curriculum.

The isolation had never bothered Jack. After being a latchkey kid, he’d been thrilled to have so much of his parents’ attention, but it had been another thorn in Jason’s side and something he’d been determined not to repeat with his own son. Feeling torn between honouring his brother’s wishes and the naked need in his mother’s eyes, Jack clenched his fist against his thigh. ‘I think it’s important to keep Noah to his regular routine, don’t you?’

She flinched as though he’d struck her, before fixing on a bright smile that failed to get anywhere near her eyes. ‘You’re right, of course. I’m just being overly sentimental. The last thing he needs is me fussing all over him.’

This was his life now, it seemed—hurting one person in order to honour his promise to another. Ignoring the stab of guilt in his heart, Jack faked his own smile. ‘You can fuss over me anytime, Mum.’

‘Get on with yourself.’ She shooed him towards the bathroom, her smile genuine this time, much to Jack’s relief.

True to her word, there was a foil-wrapped package and a thermos waiting on the kitchen table for him, together with a large water bottle, an apple and a banana. Jack finished rolling back the cuffs on the old checked shirt he’d slung over jeans and a T-shirt, then scooped up the food and drink to stow it in the rucksack he used to cart his bits and pieces around. Exiting the kitchen via the boot room, he stomped his feet into his work boots, tied the laces and headed out the back door.

Jack stowed his bag in the front of the sky-blue compact tractor parked in the yard, then pulled out the safety checklist book from beneath the seat. Their dad had been fanatical about safety, and his sons had carried on in the same tradition.

Nothing moved until it had been checked, even on days like this when Jack was running behind schedule. Satisfied the flat-bed trailer behind the tractor was hitched correctly, he circled both trailer and tractor, checking the tyres as well as the general condition of the bodywork. The engine came next—oil and fluid levels, connections, belts and hoses were all surveyed for wear. Last came the cab where everything was in order, well, once he’d cleaned the mirrors and wiped a layer of dust from the inside of the front window.

The greenhouse lay beyond the main farmhouse on the other side of the distillery, next to an old farmworker’s cottage. Jack trundled out of the yard, pausing to check the driveway in front of the house was clear before he ventured further. Their old battered Land Rover was nowhere to be seen, so the school run was already underway. Confident he could move around without risk to anyone else, Jack followed the driveway to his destination. Pulling up outside the cottage, Jack made a mental note to track down the keys for the place and have a nose around.

He and Jason had used it as a hideaway when they’d been kids, but it had been empty for a long time. His mum had talked about moving in there—said she wanted her own space away from all the testosterone in the farmhouse. Only they’d lost Jason, and she’d put her plans on hold to help Jack. Perhaps it was time for him to pick up the slack. Noah wasn’t the only one who would benefit from sticking to a routine. It was time to stop fire-fighting and accept the new status quo. The farm was his responsibility now and so was Noah. If he could get the cottage into a habitable state it would give his mum the space she craved whilst giving Jack room to breathe. He knew she only wanted what was best for them all, but if she kept making decisions about Noah without consulting him they could end up on a collision course.

A waft of warm air greeted him as he tugged open the greenhouse door. After propping it open, he dropped the tailgate of the trailer and began to transfer the first row of black plastic pots from the greenhouse. He’d taken the cuttings from the previous year’s new plants, a process they followed annually to ensure they preserved the quality and consistency of their crop. Although small now, the plants would spread and thrive within just a few short weeks, filling the air with their distinctive heady perfume.

Half an hour later the trailer was full, and so was his stomach thanks to the sandwich and a mug of hot tea. The steady work had warmed his muscles, so he paused to strip off the checked shirt before heading up to the south field. It would be a back-breaking day, and as he jolted along the trackway, he was already promising himself a long soak in the bath at the end of it.

He got the last of the plants in just as the sun was going down, his back screaming in protest as he bent over one last time to tamp down the sandy soil around the bush. With a groan, he gathered the empty plant pot and stowed it with the others in the trailer. Heaving himself into the cab of the tractor, Jack switched on the lights and chugged his way back down to the sprawl of buildings that were the heart of the farm.

Parking the tractor in the rear yard, he grabbed his bag and headed for the back door. The pots and trailer would both need washing out, but that would be a job for the morning. Bending to unlace his boots elicited another groan, and he all but hobbled into the kitchen to find his mum and Noah sitting at the kitchen table, a book held between them. The scent of something delicious rose from a large pot on the top of the Aga.

‘All finished?’ his mum asked as he paused at the sink to wash his hands.

He nodded. ‘Just about. I’ll need to take the water truck up there tomorrow, and give them a soak, but then it’s done. Have you guys eaten?’

She shook her head. ‘Noah wanted to wait for you, didn’t you, poppet?’ She stroked her grandson’s cheek as he tilted his head to glance up at Jack.

There goes my dream of a soak in the bath. ‘I’d better jump in the shower, then. Five minutes, all right?’

Sally pushed to her feet. ‘No rush, love. I need to put the bread in to warm, yet. We’re having Irish stew.’

His eyes practically rolled back in his head. Part of his parents’ back-to-nature kick had been cooking everything from scratch. No more Pot Noodles or takeaway pizzas for the Gilbert family—something else Jason had resented when they’d first moved down to the bay. Jack had pretended to be miffed in an act of brotherly solidarity, but he’d loved every meal his mum or dad had placed in front of him, even the burnt ones. ‘Sounds heavenly. I’ll be right back to set the table.’

True to his word, he was showered, changed into tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt and back in the kitchen in a flash. The heat from the power shower had done wonders for his stiff back, and he moved around freely, laying out mats, cutlery and glasses as he chatted to Noah about his day at school.

‘I got a smiley in my book today,’ his nephew said with a shy smile. He’d never had to know much about Noah’s schooling whilst Jason was around, other than pitching in with the school run, so he was still getting to grips with how it all worked.

When he cast an enquiring glance towards his mum, she said, ‘Noah stayed behind at break time to help his teacher clear up.’

‘We did painting. I put all the brushes in the big sink and put the paints in the cupboard after Miss Daniels put the lids on them.’

‘That’s great, buddy. I bet she was glad to have you help her.’ Jack held up his palm. ‘Give me five.’ Noah patted his little hand against Jack’s, practically glowing with the praise.

‘And he helped me to make dinner, didn’t you?’ his mum added.

‘Wow. I reckon all that helping out deserves a reward, don’t you?’ Jack crossed the kitchen to tug open the freezer. ‘Ah, ha! I knew we had some left.’ He turned around to show the tub of brightly striped ice cream. Neapolitan had always been his and Jason’s favourite, and they’d passed their love down to Noah. ‘What do you say, Nanna? Has Noah earned an after-dinner treat?’

Smiling fondly, Sally nodded her head. ‘I should say so! Can you give a hand with this, Jack?’

He put the ice cream back, then took the oven gloves his mum held out to him and transferred the bubbling pot of stew from the cooker top to the thick cork mat on the table. Removing the lid sent a waft of delicious steam teasing his nose. ‘This smells amazing.’ His mum took her seat with a smile and the three of them settled down to enjoy a delicious family supper. Jack glanced from his mum to his nephew, filled with love and pride for both of them. In spite of the horror of their loss, their little family was pulling together.

It would be getting busy around the place soon and he’d have even less time to spend with Noah, best to make the most of it while he could. ‘How about we walk to school tomorrow, Noah?’ Even with Noah’s shorter legs it wouldn’t be more than half an hour from the farm into Lavender Bay, and it was all downhill. The exercise would do them both good and would also give him the chance to give Noah his undivided attention. ‘If we get up a little bit earlier, we can take Bastian down to the beach to play. Would you like that?’

When Noah beamed at him, Jack knew he’d made the right call. The feeling of contentment stayed with him through Noah’s bedtime routine, Jack’s late evening walk with Bastian and on until he’d managed to read about five pages of the paperback thriller on his nightstand before his eyelids were drooping. We made it through another day, was his final sleepy thought as he turned out the light.

The screams from Noah’s room jerked him awake at 2 a.m.